Singer and songwriter Umm Kulthum’s voice marked the launch of Egyptian radio in 1934, but the radio stations did not have her all to themselves: the film studios benefitted from her talents, too.
In 1936, her debut film Wedad, directed by Fritz Kramp, was the first feature-length film from Studio Misr, established by the prominent economist Talaat Harb, who had grown convinced of the importance of establishing a film industry.
Inspired by the success of singer Mohamed Abdel Wahab in collaboration with director Mohamed Karim, particularly in The White Rose, Harb decided that the first feature-length film produced by the studio should be a musical starring the young and popular singer Umm Kulthum.
In his book, The Beginnings of Egyptian Cinema, film historian and critic Sami Helmy says, “There was a strong desire for the first film to be unique and guaranteed to succeed from the outset, and this is precisely what happened upon its premiere”.
The film achieved unprecedented success, reaping significant profits, said Helmy, while Umm Kulthum’s fame and prominence soared. She continued making films with Nashid al-Amal (1937), Dananeer (1940), Aida (1942), Sallama (1945), and Fatima (1947).
Before her acting debut, she contributed her voice to Egypt’s first sound film, Awlad al-Zawat (Children of the Elite), in 1932, written and directed by Mohamed Karim. After retiring from acting, she sang in the 1963 film Rabi’a al-Adawiyya, directed by Niazi Mostafa.
Egyptian cinema was pushing new limits and was to peak in the 1950s and 60s, the prime years of Umm Kulthum’s career in Egypt and internationally, so some have wondered why she only made six films and not more. Here, Al Majalla highlights the films she chose to make.
Wedad, 1936
The story and song lyrics for this film were written by Ahmed Rami, while the music for the songs was composed by a trio that would later become synonymous with Umm Kulthum’s film music: Mohamed Al-Qasabgi, Zakaria Ahmed, and Riyad Al-Sunbati.
According to the film’s credits, the screenplay was adapted for cinema by Ahmed Badrakhan, who was originally supposed to direct the film, before it ended up in the hands of German director Fritz Kramp.
‘Wedad’ is a servant girl played by Umm Kulthum. The role may be considered odd for ‘the Star of the East’, a singer who symbolised patriotism and Arab identity, but in Mohamed Awad’s book Umm Kulthum: The Biography of Love, she explains why. “Because Wedad is a singing servant, it becomes easier to find natural opportunities for singing. This way, the songs are not forced or awkwardly inserted into the plot.”
The film opens with a musical and dance performance by a group of servant girls, but Umm Kulthum does not appear immediately. The plot primarily revolves around Baher, a merchant played by Ahmed Allam, who is deeply in love with his servant—or possibly wife—Wedad, a woman with an enchanting voice.
He showers her with gifts, sparking envy among others, before losing all his wealth and status. Wedad sells all her jewellery to save her beloved, but it is not enough to recoup the losses. Finally, she urges Baher to sell her, use the proceeds to rebuild his business, and eventually win her back.
In the film, Umm Kulthum sings and conveys facially and physically the full spectrum of emotions, just as she did throughout her singing career, as audiences would later recognise from her appearance at televised concerts.
Her acting in Wedad is minimal in the traditional sense, with Kramp treating her as a jewel reserved for the musical scenes. The film ends with picturesque scenes of the Nile and boats, accompanied by Umm Kulthum's iconic song Ala Balad El-Mahboub Waddini (Take Me to My Beloved's Land).
Nashid al-Amal, 1937
In this film, Umm Kulthum reunites with director Ahmed Badrakhan. Based on a story by Edmond Twima and featuring songs written by Ahmed Rami, Nashid al-Amal (Song of Hope) is unique among her films as it does not bear the name of the character Umm Kulthum portrays.
This film also strongly defines the traits of the persona she would embody in her subsequent films, with only slight variations: a woman of exceptional talent, noble character, and inner strength, willing to sacrifice for those she loves.
The story follows Amal, who suffers constant mistreatment from her evil ex-husband, Ismail (played by Abbas Fares), while single-handedly raising their daughter, Laila. Despite her struggles, Amal remains dignified and refuses the charitable offers of Dr Assem (Zaki Tolaymat), a kind-hearted doctor.
Amal possesses an extraordinary singing voice, which the doctor accidentally hears. Recognising her talent, he uses his connections to introduce her to the world of music. A rags-to-riches story ensues, in some ways mirroring her own.
In Nashid al-Amal, Umm Kulthum performs a collection of beautiful songs, including Efrah Ya Albi (Rejoice, My Heart) and the patriotic anthem Ya Shabab al-Nil (O Youth of the Nile), but at the heart of the story is the balance between a woman's loyalty to love and the sacrifices she will make for her artistic future.
To marry the doctor, Amal opts to retire. Even though Dr Assem never asks this of her, it aligns with the traditional societal view of women's domestic roles as more important than their professional ambitions. This stood in sharp contrast with Umm Kulthum's life off-screen. She would not have compromised her goals for anyone else.
For this reason and others, she became a symbol of an undefeated nation (even in times of defeat). Perhaps during that phase of her life, Umm Kulthum's ideas about glory and success were different, or perhaps she was conforming to a prevailing intellectual trend while recognising herself as an exception to it.
Dananeer, 1940
Again written by Ahmed Rami and directed by Ahmed Badrakhan, Dananeer was produced by United Arab Films Company and saw Umm Kulthum reclaim the role of a Bedouin servant girl.
Minister Jaafar (played by Suleiman Naguib) stumbles upon her singing in the desert. Enchanted, he takes her with him to Baghdad, where her talent captivates Harun al-Rashid. The Caliph then asks Jaafar to add her to his court, but by now, Jaafar is deeply in love with Dananeer and refuses.
This puts the Minister in the political crosshairs. After some palace plotting, his enemies succeed in framing him, leading Harun al-Rashid to sentence him to death. When Jaafar is executed, Dananeer mourns in black, rejects palace life, and withdraws from society. She is shown as unwaveringly loyal in love, even to the point of self-sacrifice.
She says she is willing to die; such is her grief. Just as the executioner is about to kill her for her defiance, Harun al-Rashid stops him with the now-famous phrase: "Let her be, Masroor... She is a symbol of loyalty."
Dananeer is more a musical theatre production than a cinematic film. While in life Umm Kulthum would not have sacrificed herself for the sake of any lover, she did devote herself to a cause far greater than any individual: a devotion to art and the homeland. She believed in Egyptian leader Gamal Abdel Nasser's philosophy and donated the proceeds of her concerts to the Egyptian army. She reportedly locked herself away in her basement when Nasser died.
Aida, 1942
This film is based on a story by Abdel Warith Aser, with a screenplay and dialogue by Fattouh Nashati and Abbas Younes. The songs were written by Ahmed Rami, directed by Ahmed Badrakhan, and produced by Films of the East. The sets were shot at Studio Misr, which also handled the sound recording and film processing.
Umm Kulthum plays Aida, whose father, Mohamed Effendi (played by Abdel Warith Aser), works on farmland owned by Amin Pasha (played by Abbas Fares). Aida's father discovers that another farmer is stealing cotton and reports it. Amin Pasha is grateful, but the disgraced farmer seeks revenge and murders Mohamed Effendi.
Aida is orphaned, and Amin Pasha agrees to take her into his care at his palace, where she grows up alongside his son Sami (played by Ibrahim Hamouda). They share a passion for music, and a love story develops, but the Pasha disapproves since Aida is a simple farmer's daughter while Sami is nobility. He only changes his mind when he sees them perform.
This film introduces new aspects to Umm Kulthum's cinematic persona, which would later become closely associated with her legacy in both art and life: her sense of humour and light-heartedness and her love for pranks and witty remarks.
In a radio interview, she admitted that she was a mischievous student in her youth, constantly playing pranks on her sheikh and classmates during her time at the kuttab (Quranic school), which earned her reprimands.
The film also deals with social strata. In life, Umm Kulthum hailed from rural, humble origins, but through her work, she mingled with the upper echelons of society, including pashas and members of the king's entourage, before the revolution.
Although circumstances changed with the rise of the Free Officers Movement and the king's abdication, one might wonder if Umm Kulthum still carried a lingering sense of bitterness or humiliation from those early classist attitudes, even as years passed.
Salama, 1945
This is the only film directed by the renowned Egyptian filmmaker Togo Mizrahi for Umm Kulthum. It was also a departure from Ahmed Rami's song lyrics, instead collaborating with Bayram al-Tunisi, who also wrote the screenplay and dialogue for the film. The story itself was penned by Ali Ahmed Bakathir.
Set during the Umayyad era, Umm Kulthum again plays the role of a servant, Sallama. She works in the household of her master, Abu al-Wafa (played by Abdel Warith Aser), alongside another servant and friend, Shooq (played by Zouzou Nabil).
As usual, Salama is constantly singing and gazes enviously at the palace of Ibn Abi Suhail (played by Hussein Riyad), where the servant girls sing and dance freely, unburdened by the hardships of poverty and service.
She falls in love with Abd al-Rahman al-Qass (played by Yehia Chahine), a devout sheikh who disapproves of her passion for singing, viewing it as forbidden, yet her role as a servant is not limited to singing: she is also expected to dance. This is seen not as art but as a tool of seduction and femininity—a notion that both Salama and Umm Kulthum seem to have resisted.
The era of singing that preceded Umm Kulthum, particularly the age of taqtuqa (light-hearted songs), was often characterised by the press as "vulgar", with "licentious" lyrics (by the standards of that time).
Singer and music critic Fayrouz Karawya wrote that Umm Kulthum "aimed to present a new form of art as a woman while preserving her talent's dignity and guarding it against the negative perceptions surrounding female artists".
Just as Aida proved herself in the previous film by performing from the opera before the Pasha, Salama proves her worth before Abd al-Rahman al-Qass—a staunch conservative opponent of art—winning him over not through singing but by reciting verses from the Quran, enchanting listeners and immediately inspiring reverence. In both films, she achieves her goals through her talent.
In Salama, the Arabic dialogue written by Bayram al-Tunisi is livelier and more humorous than the classical Arabic dialogue in Dananeer. Additionally, Umm Kulthum occupies a larger dramatic presence in Salama than in other works, showcasing a more natural acting style that allows her love for laughter and humour to shine through. The film ends abruptly, however, with Salama deprived of Abd al-Rahman al-Qass.
Fatima, 1947
Perhaps Umm Kulthum's most charming film, Fatima, was also her last. In it, she again collaborated with Ahmed Badrakhan, who made the film more reflective of life, as evident in scenes depicting life in Egyptian neighbourhoods, with their sharper awareness of class disparity and its oppressive effects.
Unlike in her earlier films, singing does not magically resolve these issues. Instead, they are addressed through a sense of social solidarity. Moreover, Fatima's life does not transform overnight into one of happiness. Instead, her fleeting joy resembles a short-lived dream, followed by a long nightmare caused by her lover, Fathy (played by Anwar Wagdi).
This significant shift in the film's philosophy can likely be attributed to the role of Mustafa Amin, the story's author. As a journalist, Amin was close to ordinary Egyptians, who could not afford to prioritise art over reality.
Fatima is a kind-hearted and much-loved nurse in her neighbourhood, affectionately referred to as Al-Umara (The Princess). One day, she is summoned to care for a Pasha (played by Suleiman Naguib) at his private villa. There, she meets his handsome younger brother, Fathy, firmly resisting his attempts to manipulate her, reflecting the middle-class view of women's honour and dignity.
Nevertheless, Fathy deceives Fatima by arranging a marriage contract, promising to publicly acknowledge their children (the film suggests that Egyptian society was then more tolerant of such informal marriage arrangements than it is today). Predictably, Fathy breaks his promises, leaving Fatima to endure sorrow and hardship. Her only solace comes from her family and a supportive community.
Despite the dramatic tone, Badrakhan incorporates comedic touches and light-hearted characters. Umm Kulthum performs some of her most beautiful and renowned songs in this film, including Ya Sabah el-Kheir (Good Morning), El-Ward Gameel (The Flowers Are Beautiful), Ha'ablo Bokra (I'll Meet Him Tomorrow), Asoun Karamaty (I Protect My Dignity), and Nosra Qawiyya (A Strong Victory).
In her final cinematic role, Umm Kulthum ultimately portrays a conventional, one-dimensional, and stereotypical portrayal of an Egyptian woman: naive, submissive, resigned, and at the mercy of cruel fate. This outdated archetype, designed to evoke audience sympathy, continues to appear in artistic works to this day.
Again, it is utterly unlike the real-life Umm Kulthum in every way. Could these characters and archetypes explain why Umm Kulthum chose to stop making films when she did? Off-screen, she was crafting an image wholly at odds with the kind of characters that she was playing.
It may have been a factor. But the more likely reason is that, as her legend and influence grew, she simply chose to devote herself entirely to her music and its related projects, such as her contributions to the war effort.
In his book In Baddak T'eshak (If You Want to Love), Fawwaz Traboulsi writes: "In the depths of their defeats, when Arab audiences felt they had nothing left, they still had Umm Kulthum's voice." Cinema would never have topped that.
